For Love of Mother-Not - Alan Dean Foster [27]
“See?” Flinx lowered his arm and gently rubbed the back of the snake’s head. “He’s just naturally friendly.”
“Naturally ugly, ye mean,” Mother Mastiff snorted. Bending, she picked up the remnant of the broom and inspected it. All the bristles were gone, along with several centimeters of handle. A weak crackling still came from the raw edges of the tube where the metal had dissolved, though the extraordinarily corrosive liquid seemed to have largely spent itself.
She showed the remains of the broom to Flinx, still nervous about getting too near the thing wrapped around his shoulder. “See that? Imagine what it would do to your skin.”
“Oh, Mother, can’t you see?” Flinx spoke with all the exasperation of the young for the aged. “He was protecting himself, but because he senses that you’re important to me, he was careful not to spit any of it on you.”
“Lucky thing for it,” she said, some of her normal bravado returning. “Well, it can’t stay here.”
“Yes, it can,” Flinx argued.
“No, it can’t. I can’t have some lethal varmint like that fluttering and crawling all over the place, frightening off the customers.”
“He’ll stay with me all the time,” Flinx assured her soothingly. His hand continued to caress the snake’s head. Its eyes closed contentedly. “See? He’s just like any other house pet. He responds to warmth and affection.” Flinx brought forth his most mournful, pleading expression. It had the intended affect.
“Well, it won’t get any warmth or affection from me,” Mother Mastiff grumbled, “but if you’re determined to keep it . . .”
“I think,” Flinx added, throwing fuel on the fire, “he would become very upset if someone tried to separate us.”
Mother Mastiff threw up her hands, simultaneously signifying acquiescence and acceptance. “Oh, Deity, why couldn’t ye stumble over a normal pet, like a cat or a saniff? What does the little monster eat, anyways?”
“I don’t know,” Flinx admitted, remembering the hunger he had sensed the night before and resolving to do something about it soon. He had been hungry himself and knew more of the meaning of that word than most people, “Aren’t most snakes carnivorous?”
“This one certainly looks like it,” she said.
Reaching down, Flinx gently ran a forefinger along the edge of the snake’s mouth until he could pry it open. The snake opened one eye and looked at him curiously but did not raise any objection to the intrusion. Mother Mastiff held her breath.
Flinx leaned close, inspecting. “The teeth are so small I can’t tell for sure.”
“Probably swallows its food whole,” Mother Mastiff told him. “I hear that’s the way of it with snakes, though this be no normal snake and I wouldn’t care to make no predictions about it, much less about its diet.”
“I’ll find out,” Flinx assured her. “If you don’t need me to help in the shop today—”
“Help, hah! No, go where ye will. Just make sure that creature goes with ye.”
“I’m going to take him around the marketplace,” Flinx said excitedly, “and see if anyone recognizes him. There’s sure to be someone who will.”
“Don’t bet your blood on it, boy,” she warned him. “It’s likely an offworld visitor.”
“I thought so, too,” he told her. “Wouldn’t that be interesting? I wonder how it got here?”
“Someone with a grudge against me brought it, probably,” she muttered softly. Then, louder, she said, “There be no telling. If ’tis an escaped pet and a rare one, ye can be sure its owner will be stumbling about here soonest in search of it.”
“We’ll see.” Flinx knew the snake belonged right where it was, riding his shoulder. It felt right. He could all but feel the wave of contentment it was generating.
“And while I’m finding out what he is,” he added briskly, “I’ll find out what he eats, too.”
“Ye do that,” she told him. “Fact be, why not spend the night at it? I’ve some important buyers coming around suppertime. They were referred to me through the Shopkeeper’s Association and seem especial interested in some of the larger items we have, like the muriwood table. So ye take that awful whatever-it-be,” and she threw a shaky